221B Baker Street, Corus: Drabbles
by Elizabeth Collins
Summary: A collection of drabbles in my Sherlock Holmes/Tortall AU.
1. At Journey's End

Disclaimer: _Sherlock_ and its plot belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. The original plot and character belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

At Journey's End

"No!" I yelled, scrambling on the grass, trying not to watch. "Alex, you can't die!"

I could barely hear the muffled response over the tumble of the River Olorun. He probably said something stinging, curly hair masking mocking eyes. Something like, "I won't die, Naxen! You know me better!"

The spymaster of Tortall grappled with Alex furiously, wrinkled face heaving in anger. His white beard tangled into his opponent's face, trapping them both at the mercy of the wind. Alex slid on the rocks of the spongy bank, slippers scraping to the rhythm of a frog's croak.

"I'll never let you roam the streets of Corus, Myles! If you escape me alive, I will walk away from Heaven's gates in shame!"

I caught Myles' faint but pulsing voice in response: "I notice you aren't wearing your fief colours. Traitor."

I thought I heard Alex laugh, but maybe it was the crows in the distance. "Don't flirt. Focus on the task at hand - the murder of me, I mean."

Tears leaked from my eyes, the paralysis of fear over. My breeches ripped; the sound collided with a light splash. "No…" I whispered, and they had both gone down into the bubbling current below.


	2. Waiting, Wavering

_Disclaimer: Sherlock_ and its plot belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. The original plot and character belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

"Gary, I'd be lost without my Irimor." Alex was smiling at me, albeit those dark eyes were somewhere else entirely. "Will you come help with the case?" He tugged at his hair with finality, glanced in the mirror, and threw on an overcloak.

"Of course," I answered, lacing up my shoes. "If you need any medical assistance - "

"Oh. No, that won't be required. I just want your opinion." He opened the door with such energy, I feared it might fall off its hinges. "Come."

We set off down Baker Street, quickly jumping in a carriage. Alex settled in the plush seat with a sigh and flicked his eyes to the window. "How is Lady Cythera?" he asked, the corner of his mouth turning up in the reflection.

"Lovely," I replied, but I couldn't help noticing that he was blinking rapidly, avoiding my face. I stared at the back of his cloak quizzically. "Why are you blinking?"

Alex picked a piece of lint of his breeches and turned to me with an expression of absolute sadness. "Don't you know that eyes are primarily made of emotion? Can't afford that, can we?" The trees surrounding us were fleeting and the sky was too light.

Avoidance was impossible.


	3. Rumour Has It, Part I

_Disclaimer: Sherlock_ and its plot belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. The original plot and character belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Rumour Has It, Part I

"Rumour has it that Ralon of Malven is back," George was saying. "I want you to capture him."

Alex wasn't listening. "The ceiling is getting grey from your smoking," he chuckled, blowing a ring of blue haze into the air.

"Alex, did you hear me?" George's brow was stern. "Jonathan can't afford to track him down. Do it."

"Ah," Alex said, staring at the chandelier. "_Jonathan_. No doubt these intolerable first-name terms surprise you, Gareth? But George epitomizes, and personifies, the Tortallan government."

George stared at me, forcing out a rusty laugh. "He's humouring you," he said with a jerk of his head. "I never leave Pirate's Swoop."

My mouth quirked. "I find it hard to doubt the words of a brother," I said. "They are quick to reveal and even quicker to glorify."

They both turned to me and caught each other's eyes. "Hm," George mused. "I hope you know that Lady Delia of Eldorne has lately caused quite a stir. Apparently she and Jonathan were caught in a photograph, being rather intimate. I fear for his reputation." George sighed frustratedly. "She will release it to the public, before Jonathan's proposal to Thayet. I want you on her tail, too."

"Did she ask for money?" I ventured, hoping that George could easily pay off any future troubles.

"She asked for nothing, and sent no ransom note. She's one of those women that does things for a reaction, not a fee. She was an actress, you know."

Alex sniffed. "Then she could likely nose her way in anywhere. Actresses are like rats: they are hated with a passion, but they will always leave with crumbs."


	4. Rumour Has It, Part II

_Disclaimer: Sherlock_ and its plot belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. The original plot and character belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

"Gareth, I'm getting the photograph tonight. I've been to her house, and I just need to wait. Meet me at the intersection near the Lower City."

That was the message that the page-boy related to me. "Absolutely verbatim?" I inquired sternly.

"Yes, Your Grace. And Lady Cythera wanted me to tell you that she has tea in the living room for you."

I smiled at Cythera's gesture. "Coming in a moment." I patted Raffiq, our beagle, and turned off the lamp behind me.

As I strode into the hallway, tantalizing smells of rice and meat filled my nostrils. Cythera came out of the peachy-orange early evening light holding a candle. Her hair was damp and tied in a simple horsetail, and she was wearing an ethereal cotton gown that tickled her ankles.

"Well?" she asked playfully. "Hungry?"

I grinned. "Of course."

She took my arm and sat me at our simple wooden table I loved so much. I'd gotten it in Tusaine when we went travelling, the time Cythera got horribly sick. I could still remember her hoarse vows coming from the depths of our bedroom covers: "I'm _never _going there again."

As I wolfed down the food in a rather unmannerly way, Cythera was trying not to laugh. "Hard work day?"

"I had a lot of patients this afternoon," I told her, licking the spoon. "Which reminds me. I need to meet Alex tonight. Provost business."

Cythera raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know he was with the force."

_"Unofficial _Provost business," I grumbled. "It's about that Eldorne woman."

"Alright," Cythera said, pouring herself some wine, "I'll wait up for you."

"Thanks, dear." I pushed back my chair and ran to the door, the page running after me.

"Your shoes, sir!" he called.

I reddened. "Right."

Properly outfitted and in the crisp air of the Lower City, I was a happy man. It didn't take long to find the intersection, and Alex was waiting right where he said he'd be.

"Hello, Gareth," he said, clapping me on the shoulders. "This won't be hard. All you need to do is create a diversion while I snatch the photograph."

"Sounds simple, but do you know where it is?"

We were walking at a steady pace, winding around the Cesspool and back up to Corus. "No, but I know how to find out."

Soon we stopped in front of a large house artfully built with light, beige stone. "Now what?" I whispered. "Is this the house?"

"Yes," Alex hissed, and drew me into the shadows of the gate. "Go up to the door and tell her that over the past few days, you've observed a swarm of termites crawl through her front window. Say that you've called an exterminator, who will be arriving soon. That's me. You will meander down the path, not to be seen, and I will knock on the door a few minutes after you leave."

"Why am I needed? Can't you just tell her that _you _saw them firsthand?" I asked, slightly puzzled.

"There has to be a second person - a witness."

"Ah, I see." I straightened my cloak and tried to approach the door as naturally as I could.


	5. Jazz

"Delia, I didn't know you like jazz," Alex muttered into her ear, just shaving her cheekbone. "I hoped you would have given Roger up by now. Has it occurred to you that he's… um…" he let his words curdle in delicacy. "Not interested?"

He nudged her heel with his foot. "Come, dear. We have things to attend to." He skipped to the left, making a soft noise on the marble floor.

"You manage to look ridiculous while keeping those shoes intact." Her beady green eyes looked over him slowly, laughing a bit at the mere cut of it. "And the suit - how _do _you keep up with these modern dances?" She smirked.

"Hm. No arm-clutching. Are you feeling a bit reasonable today?" He maneuvered toward the curtain, raising his eyebrow at Raoul. "I suppose he thinks I'm a mocking bastard," he chuckled.

He stopped gratingly, just in time to offer Delia a drink. He smiled at the server. "Ale? Isn't that more your taste?" Alex asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," she said with iron sweetness in her voice. "I prefer a daiquiri." The waiter passed her one obligingly and they kept moving.

Alex turned to glimpse Roger and the next second Delia was gulping frenziedly from her wide-mouthed cup. "I don't need alcohol," she said breathlessly when he looked at her, with a bit more than contempt. "What I do need is you." She raised her head up to meet his mouth, she had to stand up to meet his eyes. Her drink tipped in one hand, the other was on his arm.

"Drunk on daiquiri. That's a first."

She watched him imploringly, knowing that he was immovable.

"The king knows of your plans," Alex whispered, allowing himself to bend down slightly. "I'm sorry you gave yourself away."


End file.
